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The king and high priest of all the festivals was the autumn Thanksgiving. When the apples were all gathered and the cider was all made, and the yellow pumpkins were rolled in from many a hill in billows of gold, and the corn was husked, and the labors of the season were done, and the warm, late days of Indian Summer came in, dreamy, and calm, and still, with just enough frost to crisp the ground of a morning, but with warm traces of benignant, sunny hours at noon, there came over the community a sort of genial repose of spirit — a sense of something accomplished.–Harriet Beecher Stowe

Harriet Beecher Stowe was an American abolitionist and author. Her novel Uncle Tom’s Cabin was a depiction of life for African-Americans under slavery. It reached millions as a novel and play, and became influential in the United States and United Kingdom. It energized anti-slavery forces in the American North, while provoking widespread anger in the South.

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2 months agoby jonell_gallowayMy hair was going from pepper to salt. In the beginning, it was golden like corn tassels and as straight as grass. Then thickets of dark-chocolate brown, so thick that my mother fretted and cried along with me as she tried to remove the tangles. When the sun shone, there was auburn. In time, the white started to slip in like a visitor who came in with the moon, and stayed on, leaving a light silvery halo around my face as I looked into the peeling silver mirror in the morning light. The salt has now gently kissed my brow